For Dalmasca
by vieralynn
Summary: Vossler's negotiations with Archadia appear to be succeeding but he has one more trial to go through in order to get the last thing that he wants. AU: Ghis and Vossler live, Vossler versus Judge Magisters in one-on-one blindfolded battle. For Springkink.


_A/N: Prompt: Jun 17 - Final Fantasy XII, Judge Magisters/Vossler: blindfolded Vossler must tell who is who or else... "Everything for Dalmasca"._

* * *

**Everything for Dalmasca**

"Our test of the nethicite succeeded," the older woman says as she approaches Vossler. "I've certified it as genuine," she continues, "and the Honorable Judge Magister Ghis now wishes to speak with you."

The woman leaves the main deck of the Shiva. Vossler turns. He studies his companions' faces.

Ashe is looking at him with pleading eyes. She doesn't understand that this is for the better. She is still very young, but in the end she will get what she wants. Vossler is making sure of it; his negotiations have been careful and calculated. This is for her. For Dalmasca. To finally grant unto her a stronger kingdom: the kingdom he knows she has long wanted.

Basch's face is a hardened mask that barely hides his rage. His rage is his blindness, Vossler reminds himself. It is a rage that has resulted from two years of hard imprisonment — imprisonment that forced him to confront his chief weakness. Even though the man once held the trust of the king, he is still of common blood and will always be. He'll never understand the force that drives the nobility to charge onto the battlefield nor the gentlemen's agreements that are made upon withdrawal.

Vossler motions to a group of Imperial hoplites — a signal to take the remaining miscreants away — and he notices Basch's eyes upon him, wide with disgust. Vossler's use for Basch is diminishing: the man's long-standing habit for showing sympathy toward those he should command has been growing thin. Vossler swallows bitter laughter as he turns and walks away. When he saw Basch just a few weeks earlier, he had thought that Basch was an agent of the Archadians. The idea now seemed ludicrous: that knight would never display the necessary boldness of a ruler.

# # #

This is now their third afternoon in Archades. The paperwork for the peace treaty is nearly complete and negotiations are all but finalized. Vossler has received almost everything he asked for: restoration of Dalmasca's throne, protection against Rozarrian encroachment, internal management of Dalmasca's economy, and a free trade agreement between their two nations. In return, Dalmasca will offer Her allegiance and obedience to Archadia, send a non-voting member to the Archadian senate, and allow Archades to appoint a Judge Magister as head of Her military.

There is one more item that is still under negotiation. Now Vossler needs to attend to it, but first he must witness a brief ceremony.

As he enters the room, all eyes fall upon him. Five Judge Magisters stand before him, each fully armed and armored minus their helms. Except for Ghis, this is the first time Vossler has seen all of their faces. He memorizes their names as they state them aloud and he matches them with the information he already holds about the High Magistrate.

To the right of the judges is Vayne, standing tall and proud next to his stooped and aging father.

Standing on the other side of Gramis is a familiar face dressed in foreign armor: Basch fon Ronsenburg is to be inducted into the Order of the Magisters. Vossler feels relief seeing him cloaked in the Magister's regalia. Basch has made the right choice. This is best for him.

The ceremony is brief as Gramis's military aids present Basch with his new weapons: twin blades not unlike his brother's yet of a streamlined design carrying less ornamentation. The swords are befitting for the new Judge Magister. Vossler hopes that Basch will learn to wield them well, but not today, not now; not during the final act of negotiation.

The Magisters exit the room in single file. The door closes behind them.

Vossler knows what to do; he discussed this throughly with Vayne and Gramis in the morning. He removes his shoes and his embroidered silk robe. Underneath, he is wearing nothing but cotton pants suitable for sparring.

After Gramis nods his head, Vayne approaches him, carrying a simple bamboo pole.

"I will cast blind on you before any of the Magisters enter." Vayne hands him the pole. "May you make your choice well."

Vayne returns to the far end of the room to stand beside Gramis. Vossler waits, staring at the closed door, knowing that the Magisters are stripping down to similar attire.

He rehearses the Magisters' names and faces and information in his head one more time. He's all but certain of his decision and for Dalmasca's sake, he must do this right.

# # #

Vossler is blind now and he holds his pole in a defensive position in front of his body. With deliberate a step, he moves his right foot forward and further to the right; his stance must be solid. He adjusts his feet to stabilize his center and one full cycle of breath grounds him further.

The room is silent and the silence is ever more noticeable without his sight. A nod of his head will signal to his first attacker that he is ready. Vossler exhales again. He is ready.

The sound of rhythmic footfalls approach him: bare skin slapping against the hard mats that cover the floor. He hears his attacker leap from a leading foot, then a beat of silence, and then hard sound of landing, both feet, fast; it was certainly a flourished movement but now a rush of air strikes the side of Vossler's face. He lifts his pole to block, hard. He repels the shock of the pole that struck his and pushes back. The sound of feet circle around him; Vossler turns to anticipation the next strike. He listens; feels his attacker's pole whirl above his head. Up, then down. With both hands firmly gripping his pole, Vossler pushes the overconfident attacker back; hears him stubble, trip, fall.

The first match is finished and Vossler now readies himself for the second by dropping into a defensive stance.

He strains to listen, to locate, to find. Yes, the padding of feet far at the edge of the room, circumnavigating to come around and directly face him. This opponent is heeding the exact letter of the law for this trial. A momentary hesitation is followed by swift, hard slaps of soles against the mats. Vossler readies himself to block a direct hit. The approach of these footfalls suggests the form that will be executed and when there is no longer a second to spare, Vossler blocks up and left, meeting the attacker's pole just as he expected: he has deflected a strike aimed at his throat. He guesses where his attacker will be off guard, shifts his hands quickly, and feels his pole solidly score a point against the person's flesh.

The attacker leaves without Vossler being able to track the direction of the person's retreat. He moves to ready himself to defend against the third.

Heavy footfalls pound against the mats even before Vossler has finished dropping into his defensive stance. This attacker falls upon him, relentless and driving, attempting to use pure brute strength by pressing down from above — an attempt to force a break in Vossler's defenses. One bamboo pole scrapes against the other, grinding, bearing down, pressing hard. First by stiffening one wrist and then the other, Vossler adjusts the angle of his pole: a battle between the pivot and the fulcrum, until he can find just the right angle at the right moment to serve as a lever and push this attacker away. Two heavy footsteps quickly fall back, almost stumbling, until returning with a forward momentum so strong that Vossler decides to step to the side, deflect, and redirect.

The attacker rushes past him and runs into the far wall. Vossler regains his breath as the soles of his feet seek purchase on the mat. He exhales. He is ready.

The fourth attacker takes his time to approach Vossler but Vossler eventually discerns this person's location. He turns to face his opponent before the opponent strikes, only to realize at the last moment he was wrong, but not too late to quickly change his guard. Their poles meet with a solid clack. Sound and rush of air lets Vossler guess where the attacker will next strike; he moves his pole to defend once, twice, thrice: this opponent's style has a ghost of familiarity. The pace of their sparring picks up — a worthy opponent — and Vossler struggles to hold this attacker back. Strike after strike, his opponent is now rushing him, sending Vossler into sudden retreat. They must be nearly at the edge of the mats by now. Vossler ducks to the side but suffers a strike that hits him hard in the thigh.

This attacker stops. Vossler hears the sound of the attacker's pole drop to the ground: a properly cultured gentleman's gensture. A firm hand takes hold of his arm and leads him back to center of the room so he can face the fifth opponent.

The fifth waits until Vossler had regained his defensive stance before beginning to move. This opponent's footfalls are sure and steady in approach. When Vossler senses where the attacker will strike, he readies his defense only to find that this opponent's pole does not meet his own with the swift force of the others; Vossler catches his balance quickly before stepping to far forward. Reserve and moderation marks each strike from this opponent and never once does Vossler sense weakness in defense. Vossler realizes it will be his own overcompensation that will allow this attacker to score a point, but even as Vossler adjusts his movements to meet this opponent's masterful tactics, Vossler finds himself unable to push through this person's defenses. This fair but difficult match ends when the opponent bangs the end of his pole once upon the ground, completing the match in a draw.

Vossler listens as the attacker walks away and wonders if he even broke a sweat. Dropping into a defensive stance, Vossler readies himself for the sixth and final attacker.

At first Vossler hears nothing at all and he assumes that the sixth is still readying himself but then a sudden, fast whoosh of air to the left of Vossler's face warns him that the final attacker is nearly silent in approach. As quickly as possible, Vossler steps back and away, blocking the opponent's pole before it can find him. Vossler has hardly recovered before this attacker strikes again, fast, and then again; Vossler almost fails to block on the left before the attacker's pole cuts through the air like a sword to take him on the left, from the side, blocked with only the edge of Vossler's pole as he jumps back. This opponent exhibits furious speed, eventually driving Vossler to his knees before he feels the final slap of bamboo hard against his shoulder. Stinging. It will leave a bruise.

Vossler lays his pole on the ground and catches his breath.

He can hear the soft sounds of feet; the Magisters are lining up against the wall. The six trials are over.

Vossler thinks once more about each of them: their approach, their attack, their defense. For Dalmasca's sake, he must name each of them correctly. He must, for Dalmasca's sake.

He must.

Then, not only will the choice of Magister be his, Vayne agreed to grant him the last item of contention that still remained. Vayne will write it into the treaty and sign his name to it.

He must name them correctly.

"Are you ready to name your opponents?" Vayne asks.

Vossler is ready, and he has also made his choice.

One by one, he states his opponents' names. He is confident. He then requests that the fourth opponent head Dalmasca's military.

Someone administers eye drops, restoring his sight. Vossler scans the order in which the Magisters are standing. He was right.

# # #

The treaty papers are readied the following day and Gramis's signatures are already inked. Dalmasca will be freed as an Archadian protectorate.

Vossler watches over Vayne's shoulder as the prince signs his name with a flourish on the final sheet of paper, signing away a right that Vayne will never in the future contest.

Before handing the quill to him, Vayne says, "Ghis mentioned to me that upon the Shiva you referred to Dalmasca's insurgency as 'profitless' yet it seems to me that you have managed to profit greatly."

"I only sought to regain Dalmasca," Vossler replies.

"That you did." There is a snide note in Vayne's words as he hands the quill to Vossler.

Vossler dips the quill into the pot of ink and signs his name underneath Vayne's, placing the Azelas family name immediately after the Queen's.

Vossler hands the quill to the Judge Magister who will act as official head the Dalmascan military. One more name is signed and the negotiations complete.

Ashelia quietly leaves the room. Vayne strides behind her for the last time.

Before the Magister can leave, Vossler places his hand upon his shoulder to halt him.

"I did not think it at the time," Vossler says, "but your actions two years prior brought me favor. I think you will serve as a fine general for Dalmasca's military."

The Magister gives his thanks to His Prince Consort: a simple, softly spoken word followed by a familiar nod, yet done without any challenge Vossler's authority.

Vossler could grow to like this man. He is certain of it.


End file.
